


An exile's thoughts

by JAvatar



Category: Conan Exiles (Video Game)
Genre: Exile, Master/Slave, Multi, Orgy, Priestesses, Training, Work In Progress, coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-05 19:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20278240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAvatar/pseuds/JAvatar
Summary: The passing thoughts of Fyrd, a fresh face in the Exiled lands. This is just the backstory of my toon on a server of Conan Exiles.





	1. Chapter 1

_Savages, murderers, cannibals._ These were the words to describe those poor souls forced to live in the Exiled lands.

Fyrd, newly one of those savages, sat in one of the small townships she had managed to find, a flagon of mead in front of her, gazing over the people moving to and fro on the floor below her in the pub, lost in thought. The girl was a Nordheimer, a Vanir, with striking green eyes and firey red hair, not that she knew what that meant. Her mother had been a slave in her own homelands, a victim of a raid. She was kept well enough, but was still a slave. One day, a southerner had been passing through the village while the woman was with child, and was smitten with the red hair, fair skin, and explosive temper. A deal was struck, and before Fyrd was born, she was saying farewell to her people's lands.

South, in Stygian lands, her mother was trained. All faith to Ymir was beaten out of her. She learned to at least pretend to pay homage to Set, the Serpent God. And it was in these hot lands, that Fyrd was born. From the day she arrived, she was property, nothing more, just another slave. The Master's affection for her mother did not extend to the daughter, who was seen as a nuisance, but one that could prove to be, someday, lucrative to him. Her earliest memories were how to wash dishes and clothes, how to stay out of the way. The worst early memory was when she was six, and her collar had not been adjusted for her growing neck. The metal dug in, rubbing her raw, and it was not long before gangreen had set in. Only when she became ill did her mother's Master finally listen, allowing healers to tend to the child, and a new collar put on her neck, one that properly fit.

And, she continued to grow, mostly left to her own devices, and as a child, this did lead to some issues. The girl would leave the property, careful to avoid detection, always aware to not discredit her Master's house. But that did not stop small hands from finding loose coin inside pouches, did not stop fruit carts and meat wagons from coming up short at the end of some days. In spite of the fair, freckled skin and fire-like red hair, none ever saw the little girl taking the items.

It was during one of these excursions that the girl, only a whole eight years old, would meet that one. HER Master. He was a year or two older than her, but he saw her. Saw the hair and the green eyes flecked with gold, that bright smile and deferent nature. The girl was a slave, nothing more, the free were just that. She knew her place, knew how to bow and apologize. The free were owed that respect for their station, but in the city that Fyrd grew up in, so long as the slaves knew their place, they were treated well enough. And many times, sought after. The boy who found her, saw her steal. He was so taken by her smile and looks that he couldn't NOT watch her. Instead of reporting the theft, however, he convinced his father to attempt to buy the little nordheimer. Her mother's master was keen on losing the child that was not his, and set the price low, low enough that the boy himself could afford her on his own allowance.

At first, the girl was sad to not live with her mother, but she was much happier with the new family! Her Master was almost a peer, one who she could play games with. By her ninth year, the city began to change. Families wanting things to be more proper to Set's ways, who wanted more power, started pushing for the progressive ways to be recinded, for slaves to act as slaves. This then meant that Fyrd was naked, all the time, not that the girl minded. Master was beginning to become a man, and saw his playmate and friend in a newer light. On her tenth year, she began to notice the same differences, noticed that she felt differently, but did not mind still. She grew closer to Master because of this, until one day he called her into his chambers. The house doctor was present, and she saw...gold?...on a table. "My Fyrd," her heart fluttered, "You are growing to be quite a beauty. One I am proud to call mine." Her eyes to the floor, smile threatening to split her face in two, "And, as such, I have a gift." A gift? She was a slave, slaves did not receive gifts! He beckoned her closer, and she gasped, "You see, I want MY pretty thing, to be prettier." She held still for him as he took the needle from the table, crying out softly as he pierced each nipple, a gold ring slid into each. She sat and spread her legs for him, his hand warm on her thigh, on her lips, as he pulled her hood, and she cried again as he pierced that as well, shivering as she felt the gold slide through the skin, felt it against that nub that was beginning to give such sensations.

She was only eleven when her Master claimed her body as his, as was his right, her curves developing.

All this time, she was with Master, she stopped being so childish, stopped stealing because she could, hiding because she was a sore spot. Instead, he taught her how to be useful, and she learned to clean effectively and efficiently. She learned how to prepare meats and vegetables. Learned how to spice and sweeten, to change how the served food would feel on the tongue. She had a knack for cooking, pairing meats and sides, deciding the right drink for the meal, and her Master only grew prouder.

When she was fourteen, the temple to the Set's Whore, Derketo, noticed her. Her breasts were ample, her hips wide. She was short, short for the local Stygians, very short for a Nordheimer, but her body just screamed fertile, good for bearing children. While she adored Master, and he her, he had grown distant. After all...she was a slave. And he was expected to marry, and his betrothed was very jealous of the redheaded slave who had her Master's attention, and made a large show of the disdain. The priestesses had noticed this, and feared for one that would be so....wonderful in the temple. They approached Master, explained how such a gem would benefit them, would benefit the city! And he considered it, telling them to return the next day for his answer. Behind closed doors, Fyrd begged, sobbing, to not be sold. She was a slave, yes, but loved her Master! She would show Master's betrothed how useful she was! She would die. She fell silent at his words, eyes wide, and he explained how his betrothed had already stated, matter of factly, that the redhead would be dead if she was still his slave by the wedding. He also explained that while they kept up appearances, his family's wealth was running low, which was why his wedding was fast-coming. Her eyes were on the ground as he took her hands, voice so soft, and told her that the money from the temple was sorely needed, and that she was so pretty, body kept free from even a single strand of hair while her head was permitted to grow out as a show of status because of her foreign nature, those gold piercings accenting her skin, and he wanted nothing more than to keep her, he did not want to see harm come to her, and once married, he would be powerless to stop his wife from murdering Fyrd.

So, the next day, a bag of coins was given and her collar removed, though the piercings stayed. His words, so quiet, "They were my gift to you." She turned to the priestesses, but instead of a new collar, they cloaked the girl. In silence, they made their way back to the temple, and once there, began to explain.

Derketo, the two faced Goddess, Set's Whore, was the Goddess of Fertility and death. Fyrd was no longer a slave, for a slave was ill-fitting to bear any Stygian's child. All of the priestesses were free, and as such, so was the redhead. The piercings were allowed to be kept in, comforting the girl and drawing attention to her body. She began to learn the five mysteries, learning how to serve Derketo with her body, to draw and entice, to excite and please. Men, women. By her third month at the temple, she had lost track of the people, and then the animals started! Three months in, she underwent a fifteen day ceremony, she was the focus. Countless men coated or filled her. Dozens of women pleased her with their mouths or toys. The hounds, the steeds, she soon lost track of who or what was occupying her, lost in the bliss of such potent levels of passion and the desire to breed! The ceremony culminated with a serpent, the girl was afraid when she saw it, sure it was the embodiment of Set himself it was so long! It wrapped around her, squeezing the breath from her body, she feared for her life, until her lower lips were parted. Her cry of pleasure from being taken by the snake god was forced out as it squeezed tighter, stronger, leaving her light headed, unable to even think, feeling its tongue on her body, pulling on her nipple piercings. Finally, it filled her, uncoiling and slithering off, leaving the girl gasping for breath on the temple floor.  
  
After that day, Fyrd noticed her skin was softer, her breasts even fuller, hips broader. The damage from the sun on her skin was gone, wrinkles faded away. It was explained that the ceremony would end in one of two ways, either Set would accept her as one of Derketo's prostitutes, leaving her prime for mating...or Set would accept her as his own concubine, the serpent devouring her. Blessed for being spared and allowing to serve Derketo, Fyrd renewed her training, delving into the mysteries of Derketo with passion. She was taught how to be a scribe for the temple, learning to read and write. And the years passed, the girl serving many of the city.  
  
But, the turmoil when she was a child never left, it just grew. When she was nineteen, she noticed that she was no longer called for the orgies, that men would see her but choose her sisters. The movement calling for a more traditional city was growing, Priests of Set taking over the rest of the governing body. And, in their eyes, why would any foreigner be permitted to hold such an esteemed position as a Whore of Set? The temple kept her safe as they could, but, grudges can be held for a long time.  
  
Not that she knew it, but it was exactly her twentieth year to the day when the soldiers came for her. She was dragged from the temple, crying her innocence. Taken before the city council, thrown to her knees, she heard the charges: Espionage, bribery, consorting with assassins! Then she saw her, Master's wife, older now, still hate filled, still ugly, grinning at her. There was no trial, she was found guilty with no evidence. She cried who she had tried to kill, and was struck dumb when Master's wife stood, now looking grief stricken, announcing he had died the night before!  
  
So she was carted, naked, beaten, and then crucified. The soldiers took her gifts, "Not like a corpse will need them anyways!" The Master's wife had ridden with, grinning hatefully, "I told him I would kill you. He was foolish enough to try and stop this. Take that comfort, whore, that you MAY see him with your precious goddess soon!" And she was left alone. But, the guards had not nailed her, only tying her limbs. It had been years since she had to do anything like this, but that supple flesh gave more than a normal adult's would, and in short order had slipped her binds.

The blessings she had received, and her knowledge of cooking, hiding, how to identify safe and unsafe water, kept her whole as she wandered. She found another exile, this one dead, but in leather armors! She donned the heavy material, trying and praying for some salvation, when she saw the camels and elephants. A train of them, led by people. She followed, hoping to steal some food, when one guard noticed her. He was pale skinned and fair haired, a hyborean, and took her in. He was jovial, the two able to communicate because Fyrd had learned many languages as a priestess, and he explained the city they were heading towards. She would be safe enough, just would have to find a way to be useful.  
  
That was only this day's morning, as she worked her flagon. She was at a loss, she missed the light weights on her breasts, missed the security of knowing what she was, where she belonged. "But," she mused, "Compared to some of the people back home, these are not the savage ones." Another deep sip, she did not notice the giant of a woman coming up from behind, lost in her own thoughts, nearly jumping out of her skin when the pale, lanky woman greeted her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the backstory of Fyrd prior to starting play on the server. All subsequent chapters will be of the major (and minor) events of her life in the exiled lands.


	2. Being Found

As the tall woman greeted the redhead, Fyrd nearly knocked over her drink as she turned and then look up once she realized she was staring at the naval of the woman. Then, when her gaze was only at the woman's breasts, craned her neck to look up into that face. Internally, the redhead panicked for a moment, recognizing the hyperborean standing over her, but remained calm outwardly. This may have been the little vanir's first run in with the giants, but years of proper presentation when intimidated by the presence of another kept her relaxed and demure, eyes falling to the ground as was proper.

The woman was lanky, fingers seeming too long, her entire body seeming off to the petite girl, but that was a common thing of the giants, as Fyrd had heard in her life. The pale woman introduced herself as Landdisir, Fyrd quick to give her own name. It would have been a lie to say she was not relieved when the tall woman finally moved to her side, no longer hovering over her, but the redhead was captivated by the giantess. She exuded a powerful confidence, sure of herself, but with an easy smile, and not for the first time in years, Fyrd missed Master.

As the two conversed, the pale and pale-haired woman noticed the scar on the redhead's neck, but refrained from comment. At one point, Landdisir rested her own hands on the bar, and Fyrd could not help but notice what looked like ash or soot coating them, instinctively reaching out to try and clean the woman's fingers, which did almost nothing. This drew a look that the vanir missed, her own ideas of propriety having kicked in around the powerful woman who was being so kind. "How long have you been here?" The redhead looked up, feeling lost again, admitting to it being just around a week, though she was unsure, the first few days such a blur she truly had lost track how many had passed.

When asked what her plans were, Fyrd nearly broke down in tears, for she had none. But, appearances, she kept herself calm and admitted to not having any, save find someone that she might serve, doing all she could to earn her keep, though with few skills useful to the exiled lands, she was doubtful any would need her. She glanced up, Landdisir having a thoughtful look, as though appraising the redhead, before admitting to working with a doctor. She mentioned the encampment was small, but they could always use an extra hand or two, before asking if Fyrd could read and write. The redhead beamed as she answered she did, which drew a smile that shook her to the core, having almost forgotten what it was like to please someone so much. The offer was then extended, join them at the camp, Fyrd would be kept safe, could earn her keep, be secure. "Of course, I will need to mark you," those intense eyes on her neck, "For your protection. I mean, you came from stygia, you know what that means, right?"

Fyrd nearly scoffed, of course she knew! Being marked as another's was a symbol of status, that of one of protection. It was not a full-proof thing, of course, should a marked one or a slave cause strong enough of a transgression, they could be killed right there, but the PROPER thing would be to go to their owner and demand restitution. But, it did protect them from abuse, from abduction, from general molestation, because they did belong to another. Of course, Fyrd knew far better than to let that scoff slip, offering a soft smile and nodding, admitting to understanding.

Landdisir let the little vanir finish her drink, before leading her through the township, obviously familiar with the layout, the redhead lost quickly, once again cursing the heavy leathers that she wore, having already expressed disdain at the bulk prior. At the time, she swore the pale giantess was about to laugh at her for her discomfort. Finally, in front of a vendor of dyes, inks, and silks, Landdisir stopped, taking a brush, thinking a moment, as Fyrd stepped next to her, head already tilted to allow access to her skin, fingers keeping her long hair out of the way, nervously braiding the ponytail loosely. A moment later, that brush was on her skin, feeling the moistness of the paint as Landissir worked, shivering as the giantess blew across her skin to help the paint dry. She would not admit it to herself, let alone anyone else, but that mark settled much of the unrest she had felt for years, knowing she would _belong_ again. Then, the two were off, leaving the confines and safety of the town. Landdisir knew her way, leading the small redhead, a few wild animals having caught scent and giving chase were dispatched by the warrioress, the flash of that smile ensuring her bunny was still there. Fyrd blinked as they traveled, not even realizing the tall woman had started referring to her as such, but thought nothing of it.

Finally, they reached the compound of the doctor, Fyrd's eyes wide as she took it in. In all honesty, she had expected perhaps a large house in the city, not this! It was spacious, well laid out, a troupe of smithies near the back. She could hear the sounds of an active bar, smell a cooking pit and kitchen, the doctor's office a well structured building. Landdisir turned back, grinning, "What do you think?" Fyrd could only shake her head, grinning broadly, "It's lovely."

She shifted again, the leathers pulling across her body uncomfortably, before Landdisir motioned for her to follow, "Let's get you more comfortable." As the two approached the craftsmen and smithies, Fyrd heard a voice, deep, harsh, pausing to look as her guide also turned, the little redhead's eyes widening as she saw him, another too-tall, slightly misshapen man. Fyrd was quiet, eyes down, calm, allowing the two to speak, Landdisir explaining how she found Fyrd, and knows the doctor could use her. The man, whose name she picked up to be Marek, seemed to barely tolerate Fyrd's guide, and only at this doctor's request, the redhead fearing the tenuous thread of hope of belonging already ready to snap. But, Marek consented to her staying, Landdisir already digging through a chest for spare clothing closer to Fyrd's desires.

One thing she did notice was Marek refered to Landdisir as Alva.

Finally, given a pair of slacks and a better fitting top, Fyrd began to strip, reaching behind her back and unlatching all the buckles, the heavy leathers dropping to the ground with an unceremonious flump, the leather kilt following, leaving the girl nude save for her boots, both of the hyperboreans a little shocked at the casualness of her nudity, Landdisir able to see that every square inch of her body below her neck was bare of hair. A few moments later, the cloth was adorning the girl's body, her stretching strongly, hands above her head, bringing herself up to the balls of her feet, her ample chest stretching the cloth to its limit, before falling back to her feet fully, enjoying the stream of little pops of her spine.

Marek turned her, inspecting her now, looking at her neck, first her left side, eyes narrowing at the tell-tale scar of the old infection, before turning her head to see the right side. When his eyes fell to the mark, she could hear him growl, fingers on the mark, her seeming to shrink at the energy he began to exude, and felt and heard Alva behind her, practically bouncing with excitement. In spite of it being dry, the paint smeared on his fingers, "WHAT IS THIS?!" and she was thrown to the side, falling to the ground. She looked up as the man smashed his fist into the giantess's face, the actions throwing Fyrd's mind into a state of shock, not hearing all that was said, just snippits, before jumping up, trying to pull Marek back, babbling about how it was a mark to show her as protected. When he explained it was a tribe, of Vanir, that he hunted, the world seemed to freeze.

It wasn't a mark of protection or ownership, it was a trick, one to get her killed! She let Marek go, and for the first time since childhood, she let her anger out, explaining what it was supposed to be on her, then turning on Alva, hissing her anger, how she trusted her, and it was a trick to get her killed?! The female hyperborean was flippant, the betrayal meant nothing to her, because, in the end, Marek didn't do anything to the little redhead, so what harm was done.

Fyrd looked back to the entrance, taking a few tentative steps, ready to leave. She heard the non-apology from Alva, heard the disdain but offer from Marek to stay, to come to him for protection. She turned back, seeing a chance, nothing more, to find something stable, which was more than she had an hour prior, before deciding to stay.

That night, Alva dragged her to her tent, patting her bedroll for Fyrd to join her. The girl stripped, crawling in with the giantess, body tight, back to the other woman, still hurt from being used like she was, still uncertain if she was going to stay or not, before she was pulled bodily against Alva, feeling that warmth on her back, those fingers trailing over her body. It had been over a year since she last laid with anyone, long since she felt truly secure, her body responding to those touches, to the tweaks and strokes, letting out a moan of pleasure, body relaxing, hands falling back to hold the other woman's hips as her body was explored. The hyperborean was gentle, almost teasing, as she pleasured the little Vanir, slowly edging her more and more, before those fingers brought the redhead to a crying orgasm, relief of actually being desired, being securely held, just the relief of not fearing for her life making it powerful and exhausting, before passing out.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Fyrd woke, feeling cold, looking behind her, Alva already gone. The vanir slid from the bedroll, finding and pulling on the clothing given to her, stepping out into the open, looking around the compound. Once again, her gaze fell to the gateway, freedom right there, before looking over herself, clad in little more than what she wore at the temple, having found a pair of sandals to avoid the thick, heavy boots she had been wearing. She knew nothing of combat, and at this point, couldn't even begin to remember how to get back to the city she had been found in. A heavy sigh, she looked back towards the craftsmen, seeing the two too-tall, pale haired giants, sullen, before moving towards them.

"Oh, Bunny, you're awake!" Alva's words were chipper and cheery, Marek's gaze lingering on the redhead, his voice somber, "So you decided to stay?" Fyrd smiled as she looked up, letting the sullen, frustrated betrayal go, nodding to the Hyperborean. "I am, if the offer is still open, Sir." Fyrd caught Alva's lips pull into a smirk as Marek nodded, stepping closer to, towering over the vanir girl, "And what can you do to earn your keep." She looked up, swallowing dryly, "I can clean, and cook!" Alva jumped up at this, "YES! Food! Now!" the tall woman clapping with excitement. Marek seemed to growl but nodded, Fyrd stepping back as Alva led the way toward the outdoor kitchen and fire pit.  
  
Once there, the two hyperboreans took a seat in some chairs around the fire pit, Fyrd looking to the kitchen, noting the knives, cleavers, source of heat, the preservations boxes, strings of drying herbs and peppers, before glancing back to the two. "What would you like me to cook?" Marek just glowered at her, "Meat. There is a shank I just put in the preservation box." Alva nodded in agreement, a hunger in her face, Fyrd bowing to the two and moving to cook.

The first thing she did was pull the shank out, inspecting the cool meat, hand running over the skin and fur still on it. She glanced around at the peppers and other vegetables, rummaging through the other preservation box and pantries, gathering onions, carrots, various peppers and chilis, looking through at the drinks in the cool-box and the kegs of fermenting spirits. Finally, she went to work, grabbing first the butcher's knife, inspecting the edge, before taking the straightening rod, and quickly drew the edge of the blade across the rod, the metal-on-metal _shink shink shink shink shink shink shink shink_ rapid as she ensured the little nicks and bends were straight. The rod was dropped on the counter before she flipped the blade three times, catching it by the handle without glancing to it, checking the balance, happy with the state of the blade. She took hold of the meat, sliding between the muscle and skin, and quickly stripped the meat of its skin and fur. Next, she found a mortar and pestle, before taking a chili pepper, two larger green peppers, and rock salt. She sliced the peppers into halves, then the even faster _thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk _as she diced the veggies up drowning out whatever conversation the two hyperboreans were having. Once she found the best pieces, she glanced up, hearing a new, third voice. Shorter than the hyperboreans, but still taller than the little Vanir, Fyrd noticed the woman move towards a seat, Alva quickly jumping out. The chosen peppers and chunks of salt all went into the mortar, pestle grinding the mix into a fine dust.

"I want a drink. NOW!" The new woman's voice carried a weight that sent goosebumps down Fyrd's arms, Alva quickly moving towards the kitchen as Fyrd found the cleaver, inspecting that blade. Silently, she tsked to herself, seeing the dull edge with numerous nicks and dings, shooting a sideways glance at Marek, assuming he was the one who mishandled the blade. The straightening rod in hand, these _shinks_ of metal on metal were deeper, resonant, and Fyrd flinched as she heard the the tiny pings, knowing some of the nicks were breaking off, feeling the grind instead of smooth slide of metal on metal, knowing this knife would need to see a smithy, a new edge ground into it, if not outright replaced. She twirled it across her fingers, spinning tight circles, visibly wincing as the balance was definitely off, _"A new blade it is," _she thought to herself before finally moving to the shank. Alva moved back behind her, towards who Fyrd could only assume to be the doctor, drink in hand, before the heavy **_THUNK!_** of the cleaver going through meat and bone, quickly shearing the leg from thigh, and deboning the thigh. Once left with the clean shank, she ran a heavy skewer through it, then dry-rubbed on the pepper and salt rub, carrying it to the fire pit. Once positioned over the coals, she stoked and added more wood to the heat, a heavy, mesquite smoke starting to form, but kept the heat low enough that the smoke never crept above the compound's wall-line.  
  
She felt all three sets of eyes on her back as she moved, but none told her to stay, wait, or change tasks, so she went about her duties, going back to the kitchen. The paring knife was in her hand next, taking carrots, potatoes, a couple more larger non-spicy peppers, and quickly skinned the carrots and potatoes, setting aside the peels for the livestock she saw, dicing all the food before her. She was not paying attention to the conversation, taking a pan, igniting the stove, letting the thing heat up, finding a bottle of oil, tasting a drop, nodding as it was olive. She looked through the other liquids, face beaming as she found some rice wine vinegar as well. Once the pan was ready, she drizzled quite a bit of the oil into the pan, scooping in the potatoes first, cooking and browning them, before adding the peppers, diced carrots, and peppers, the pan sizzling loudly in the air, the acidic scent of the peppers filling the area. As that cooked, she moved back to the remaining meat, slicing out and cubing the leg meat. Once the veggies were cooked, she moved them from pan to a dish, then took some mead and the oil, moving back to the fire pit. She rotated the skewer, fat and blood sizzling as it dropped to the coals, coating and rubbing in the mead and oil to the browned side of the meat, a new wash of mesquite heavy smoke filling the air in a puff as some leaked into the pit. She didn't even noticed, but had stepped on the stones surrounding the pit, having to step down when she was done, glancing back as the Doctor had slid her fingers into Alva's nostrils, thumb pinching down, pulling the much taller woman down to her level, "And we're NOT going to play any more tricks on sweet Marek, are we?" Alva just shook her head, confirming that she would not, as Fyrd went back to the kitchen.

More oil in the pan, back on the heat, the cubes of leg meat rolled in the last of the salt, before added to the pan, popping and sizzling, a splash of the vinegar as they cooked. Once each cube was properly seared, she set the pan on the low heat, keeping them warm, taking the butcher's knife with her to the fire pit, the three watching her now, her voice low, "How would you like your meat cooked?" she asked, Marek quick to answer, "Rare." Neither of the women countered, so Fyrd turned to the skewer, slicing into it. Some juices and fat ran out, but the meat was properly seared, a rich smokey flavor mixing with the chili and peppers, the inside only starting to turn pink. She took the skewer from the fire, moving back to the kitchen, pulling the long rod from the now cooked thigh meat, and went about slicing it into portions for the three. A little rummaging later, she found some plates and mugs, scooping some of the still hot veggies, some of the cubed meat, as well as the slices of smoked shank. Next, she filled the three mugs with honeyed mead, knowing that would bring the subtle spices out of the food better than a wine or un-honeyed drink. A quick glance at the three, she loosened the wrap around her chest, before loading two plates on her left arm, dipping at the knees to slide the third onto her right, balancing the three near her elbows. Next, she took one mug in her right hand, nestling it between her breasts, before taking the last two in hand.  
  
Gracefully, she stood, and glided to the three who would decide her fate, moving between them and the fire pit, sliding to her knees, food held up as the doctor seemed to finish berating Alva. Marek's eyes were on Fyrd as she stayed lowered, knowing the three would take the food and drink when they were ready, the man reaching first, taking one plate from her left arm. She extended her hand, assuming he would want the closest mug (as he was on her left, Alva directly in front of her, the doctor on her right), but instead he leaned forward, she felt his eyes on her face as his hand moved to her chest, grasping the mug, feeling his finger tips graze her breasts before lifting and sitting back. Without the mug to fill her out to the limit of the loosened wrap, it hung low, showing much of the ample girl's cleavage, almost threatening to come undone. Alva clapped excitedly as she took her own plate and drink, leaving Fyrd's right arm still ladened with food as the doctor regarded her, silent, thoughtful.

As she knelt there, Marek and Alva tearing into the food, little noises of appreciation from the woman, even the man giving a pleased grunt though it seemed obvious he was used to a less-ornate fare, drew the tiniest smile on her face. The doctor though, did not take a plate yet, "So, you are the rabbit Alva found. Do you have a name?" Fyrd nodded to first acknowledge the question, her eyes still lowered, "Fyrd, Miss." She had to actively stop herself from the instinctive _Mistress_ before the woman, her aura so strongly reminding Fyrd of the free in Stygia. Certainly, the two hyperboreans inspired the desire to serve in her, but this woman, this Doctor, she seemed to just exude that Fyrd SHOULD serve her. A nod from the pale-haired woman, before she took the last plate and drink, taking a bite, Fyrd lowering her arm, both now behind her back, awaiting either instruction or release. "As you were told, I am running a clinic here. And this food shows you know the finer things of..civilized life, unlike two that I know. But, if you are to be useful, I need more." Another bite and sip of mead, "Can you read? Write?" Fyrd dared to raise her gaze to the woman, seeing her eyes on the scar around her neck, but a smile at the prospect of being useful gracing her lips, "Yes Miss, both. In the temple I was taught to be a scribe in addition to my normal duties." The doctor perked an eyebrow, "What temple?" Fyrd's eyes back to the ground, "Derketo, Miss. I had, in my time, learned all five mysteries of the Goddess, in addition to the other tasks." She could feel the woman nod, and Fyrd noticed Alva's body growing tense, raising her eyes enough to see the hyperborean glance between the two, shock on her face, like she might lose something. "I see. That IS useful, for I need a receptionist. Can you do that, little Fyrd? Tend to my books? To what _I_ need done?"  
  
The redhead looked at the doctor fully, feeling the agitation from Alva as she stared at the doctor as well, but nodded, "I can, Miss, and will do all I can to earn my keep. But," the doctor lifted her chin in question, as Fyrd swallowed, "I don't wish to be a point," her own gaze to the one who found her and brought her here, the one she owed this opportunity to, the one who started to make her feel...wanted.....for the first time in a long while, "of contention," before her gaze was back to the Doctor. The seated woman was quiet for a moment, sparing a glance at Alva, catching the Vanir's meaning, "Of course. I'm sure you'll be very useful to me, please make yourself at home. And listen to Alva's and Marek's instructions, as if they were mine." Alva seemed to jump up and clap at the news, "Hear that bunny, you get to stay!"  
  
Fyrd could not help but smile as the three ate, before Alva finished, standing, "Let's get you properly set up." Fyrd nodded, standing, glancing to the kitchen..the mess she still had to clean. "Shortly, but yes!" She moved, cleaning all the remaining meat from the bones, setting the cooked remains in one of the ice-boxes, the uncooked food in the other. She took the veggie scraps to the livestock, the chickens delighting in the peelings, before taking the bones to the larger carnivores. Once finished, Alva led her around, showing her the full compound, letting her explore to find every nook and cranny. And for the first time in over a year, Fyrd felt she had a purpose and belonged again.


End file.
